"I'm sorry but you can't come in unless you're wearing socks with your sandals" the doorman said. "But don't worry, we can loan you a pair." He held up a pair of well-worn clean blue socks. Inside, a black light illuminated mushroom posters on the walls and a laser flashed through the smoke. A DJ mixed up a Bob Marley and Fatboy Slim beat. The budtenders took orders and rolled joints as people tap to pay with their phones. A coughing man waved at the smoke, "I'm glad you invited me but this really isn't my thing!" he shouted to his friend over the music. He pulled a flask from his pocket and took a swig. Whiskey. He watched as the laser made the outline of a rabbit move across the wall. An explosion of brick and dust knocked dancers onto the floor as a helicopter smashed through the wall and into the club, hovering in the middle as a machine gunner aimed at the alcohol ban offender. His gun spun up and fired a short burst at the man with the flask, killing him instantly. "He wasn't wearing any socks!" Someone yelled, pointing at him as he laid on the ground, his bare feet exposed from his fall. The helicopter turned and flew out the massive hole in the wall. The pilot squinted and focused as he tried to find an ending to the story, preferably a comfortable ending where people wore socks and remembered the health risks associated with drinking alcohol. That was the third boozer they killed tonight. His insurance won't cover therapy and his wife and kids are frightened by the changes in daddy since he started his new job.